


Shane in Furs

by almadeamla



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Dom Shane, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sub Rick, lmfao i hate all of these tags oh god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 08:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18495493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almadeamla/pseuds/almadeamla
Summary: While cleaning out Gramma Jean’s attic, Rick and Shane make a discovery.





	Shane in Furs

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this trash thing is all because of BookWyrm. I got really drunk on margaritas one night and we started talking about avant-garde literature and our shared love for _Venus in Furs_ and well. This happened.

Shane’s grandma Jean put them to work the summer before senior year. “You clean out that attic boys,” she told them, waving around her wooden spoon. “You can laze about when it’s done. I’ll pay you in sweets.”

That was enough to motivate Rick. He and Shane booked it up the stairs, dreaming of cinnamon rolls and those little jam cookies she only made in early spring. It was better than spending the day at his own house. His mother had decided for him that he should finish his college application essays early.

The attic was an oven. The heat rose there and festered, caught between two layers of insulation, and the sun shone hot through the plated window and baked the wood. It smelled musty, moth-balls and junk that hadn’t been exposed to fresh air in decades. 

“It’s hotter as balls up here, man,” Shane said, groaning, but there was no more complaining after that.

They made good progress. By week’s end they’d cleared out the majority of the boxes, enough that they’d unearthed an old green satin couch and paisley valise. There was still more to sort through but they had enough room now to take a break when the heat overwhelmed them. Shane had stopped wearing a shirt almost immediately. Rick followed his lead shortly after. They roasted, rooting through old files, baby clothes Shane couldn’t remember wearing, and family albums Shane set down without opening.

“Hey man, check this out.” Shane held up something that at first Rick thought might be an old throw rug or part of a taxidermied bear. Black and matted, rumpled, Shane dragged it out of the old valise.

“What is it? A rug?”

Shane cocked his head. “Think it’s a coat. Pretty sure these are arm holes.”

“Put it with the rest of the clothes. I want to get through these records.”

Rick waited, but Shane didn’t come to help him lift the trunk.

Shane had put on the coat. He stood with his hip cocked out, mouth pursed like he was taking a drag of an imaginary cigarette. With his hands he pretended to push his hair up as if he were righting a set of salon-styled curls. His bare chest gleamed with sweat, his skin bronzed in stark contrast with the thick, black hair that furled around him. The ragged ends of the coat dragged on the floor.

Gesturing with the imaginary cigarette, Shane snapped “I wanted those boxes moved _hours_ ago, are you deaf or just stupid?” Shane pitched his voice high, an unbearable falsetto, and he put some accent to it that Rick thought might have been New York.

Rick knew he was supposed to be laughing. Or teasing. He should have made fun of Shane for glamming it up like a high society girl. “Um,” he said, his problem embarrassingly apparent.

“Huh,” Shane said, his gaze flicking downward. “Yeah.”

 Sunset. The heat of the day started to taper. Shane’s gramma Jean went out for the night to a community supper. Rick knelt naked in the orange and rose sunlight, throat and knees and cock aching, transfixed, as Shane slipped back into the old coat one strong shoulder at a time.

He catalogued Shane’s body. He had seen it many times before, but it came alive now, it’s own entity, ethereal, separate from the memory of a beloved, beguiling boy. It was a fixed point of his desire, it brought his mouth to water, it drew forth in him a want no food or drink could satisfy. He needed to taste Shane with his lips and tongue and teeth.

He’d always noticed the differences between them. The fur and the languid curls of light like tendrils of honey just made them more apparent. He’d always felt he was normal, a flesh and blood human, someone who was borne into the world wrinkled and screaming, but Shane looked like he was carved from marble. Gold everywhere the sunset touched him, just the most intimate parts of him white as stone. 

Rick didn’t know what to do with himself. His bones were weak as jelly, his insides quivered, the intensity of his _want_ left him equal parts hot and cold. 

Thankfully, Shane made the decision for him.

“Put out your hand,” he said, husky, not like that awful falsetto, more real, a sound for Rick’s ears alone.

Rick held it out palm up like he was to receive communion. Shane held him hard by the wrist and brought Rick’s hand to his chest. He let it rest there, let Rick explore him of his own accord. Shane was smooth and hairless, soft as the fur he’d draped himself in, hard underneath with muscle, perfectly formed. Rick moved his hand downward and over one of Shane’s nipples. He rubbed the pad of his finger over it, felt it harden, the tiny peak of flesh come alive. “What do you want?” Shane asked him, once, twice, but the words floated above Rick, right over, it was too much to understand.

“I—I don’t…” 

“Figures,” Shane rolled his eyes, a curl of his hair slipped out of place and fell into his forehead. It hung suspended there. “If you ain’t up for talking, you might as well put your mouth to use.”

Shane went and sat on the loveseat, one foot up on the cushions beside him, legs open. A feast. Shane’s narrowed eyes watched him, dark as flint and full of sparks. With a tilt of his head he beckoned Rick forward and he went crawling on his hands and knees.

Rick didn’t know where to start. Shane was a work of beauty. Shane in Vitruvian, more perfect than a picture, pretty as any dream, all his flesh presented without a care. His gaze was drawn to Shane’s dick up against his belly, pearled with precome, sheened like a poison apple begging to be eaten.

He got his mouth on Shane, sucking in the tip, tasted the hot, tight skin. He couldn’t fit much of Shane’s cock in his mouth, he struggled past the first inch. His eyes watered when Shane smacked him hard, open handed, “watch your teeth.”

He renewed his efforts, mouth stretched wide—he didn’t know what to do with his tongue or where to put it, it got in the way until the weight of Shane’s cock forced it off to the side. He gagged and brought up spit. Shane pushed him away.

“Jesus, you can’t even manage to do this right?”

Rick flushed, fire dancing through him, turning his cheeks to embers, and it made him harder, to be so hotly ashamed. 

He put his mouth on Shane again, his spit slick dick and downwards, back, and he licked, heard Shane gasp, like Rick had finally surprised him. He did it again. Kept his mouth there, the one place Shane was defenseless, pink and tender and exposed. 

Shane ground against him, bruised Rick’s mouth with the demands of his body, brought closer to that precipice of pleasure with every touch of his tongue and lips. Looser and looser, like the bud of a flower opening, ready to bloom. Rick licked his way in, felt Shane from the inside out, the delirious heat of him.

 He went on like that, back and forth, made it messy, saliva smeared along his chin. It was soothing to be focused just on this. To know his place, to know he was here, blessed somehow by the angels, on his knees in the sweetest kind of prayer between Shane’s legs.

“Don’t you fuckin’ stop.” Shane dug the heel of a boot hard into his back. “Oh don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

 He had to watch. Shane’s fingers caught one of his own nipples and pinched while he stroked himself, a filthy sound, the red head of his cock disappearing into his closed fist. It only took a little more, Rick’s tongue never stopping, and Shane was coming onto himself, his heaving stomach, exquisite even covered in jizz. 

That was all it took. Rick felt himself shaking. He moaned into Shane’s leg, the junction where his thigh met the rest of his body. He mouthed Shane again and again with open lips.

Afterward, the evening settled proper into twilight, cold and dark and painted with moon. Shane made them peanut butter and banana sandwiches.

They ate watching television. An old western, the colors muted, and the sepia toned desert landscape was a comfort after the vivid intensity of the day.

Shane pulled the crusts off his sandwich and pushed them around his plate while he chewed. His face was half in shadow, sheened in lamplight, and it made him look human, soft again, no longer defined edges on a canvas. Free. “Was that what you wanted?” 

Rick’s mouth was gummy like he had come out of a long, deep sleep. “Yeah, it was—you were good.” 

Shane smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> i hate myself for all of this BookWrym i hope you’re happy THIS IS WAS YOU NOT ME.


End file.
